


Abandoned Things

by brookebond



Series: Inceptiversary 2017 [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eames made a mistake, Heavy Angst, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 15:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11489073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: It had been three months since Eames left. Twelve weeks of living alone. Eighty-four days of Arthur pulling out everything Eames had left behind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Vulnerability square of my Kink/Trope Bingo Card. I think it fits the trope fairly well but oh well!

_ “Darling, would you believe me if I said I couldn’t make it to Cuba because I was… [coughing] … I’m just running a few days late. You don’t start the Anderson job till next week, yeah? I think I should be able to get to Paris for a few days before that. Let me know, darling. Love you.” _

—

**_“I can’t believe you got arrested for public indecency. I thought you’d learnt your lesson after Prague. Honestly, if you aren’t in Paris the day I get there, you have to spend the holidays with my parents. Thanksgiving through to the New Year and I hope you like your hand.”_ **

—

_ “Paris was a dream. Can we go back there, please, darling? I am about ready to strangle Davis with his own intestines. Can you send me some links as to how one might go about that? I’d love to make sure I did it right. Skype date tonight?” _

—

**_“Eames… I’m hearing some very strange things about you and Davis. Did you actually cut up his favourite tie and leave it on his desk? If you wanted more… [heavy sigh] inconspicuous ways to get back at him, you could have just asked. Please don’t get arrested. I’ve only got two days in London before I have to leave for Perth. Please be there this time. I miss you… ”_ **

—

_ “Did you get your present, darling? I was worried it wouldn’t make it to you on time but I wanted you to have something even though I couldn’t be there. I am heartbroken I couldn’t be there to see you turn thirty. I promise I will find a way to make it up to you somehow… God I wish I could be there with you right now. Maybe we should take a holiday to Bora Bora. Stay in one of those fancy houses above the water. I bet you would be gorgeous there… Send me your schedule, I’m booking us a holiday.” _

—

**_“If Cobb complains about how tanned I am one more time, I think I might actually shove that paisley tie you gave me for Christmas down his throat. Honestly, you’d think he’d never heard of a vacation before. In other news, it looks like we’ll be heading back to Paris soon. How much longer will you be in Mombasa?”_ **

—

_ “You had better not work with Cobb ever again. That psychotic lying bastard nearly got us all killed. Please, darling, don’t ever do anything with him again. I cannot bear that thought of you suffering because of another of his stupid ideas. Come work with me. We already make the perfect team. We’d never have to play phone tag again. Think about it.” _

—

**_“Working with Ariadne again has been a dream. I can’t believe how far she’s come in such a short time. She was made for dreamshare. I wish we’d found her sooner. [soft sigh] Thank God Cobb didn’t have time to screw her up. You’re back in Mombasa right? I haven’t heard from you in a few days and I hate to admit it… but I’m a little worried [incoherent mumbling] it’s not like you. Get in touch, please… I love you.”_ **

—

**_“Eames, it’s been two weeks and I still haven’t heard anything from you. Not sure what’s going on but I can’t find anyone that seems to know what’s happened to you. Please… Eames… I need you to be okay. Please… pick up your phone and call me, you idiot. I love you. [brief pause] Call me.”_ **

—

**_“Okay, it’s been a month now. Where are you, Eames? I can’t find a single trace of you. I’m going home, yes, OUR home. So… if you’re in the area, drop by. I need to see you…”_ **

—

**_“Six weeks and counting… Eames this is ridiculous and honestly, if something has happened to you, I wish I had a way to know. Didn’t you set up those fail-safes when I told you? I just need to know that everything is okay… I love you so much, Eames… Please be okay…”_ **

—

**_“Okay, two months. Clearly I need to call this as you trying to let me down in a ridiculous way. Yusuf sent an email and said he saw you last week. What the hell is going on? I don’t understand, Eames. I thought we had sorted these issues out. The least I deserve is a response of some sort… I love you. You realise that, right? I love you and there is no one else for me.”_ **

—

**_“Ariadne told me you were going to be in Paris for a few days. Stay there, please. I'll see you at the apartment. Okay? Please, I need to talk to you.”_ **

—

_ “Arthur… love… darling… I’m sorry for doing this over the phone but something’s come up. I can’t stay any longer. It’s too hard to keep this up and I know I owe you more than a phone call but… shit—” _


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur sat on the floor circled by piles of crap. Well, to anybody else it would look like crap. To Arthur, it was memories of the life he had lived before everything turned to shit, before Eames had walked out the door and never looked back.

The piles were made up of things Eames had left behind; a ratty grey t-shirt that was more holes than fabric, sweatpants that Arthur had to roll down at the waist so they would stay on his hips, a dog-eared copy of Treasure Island, a sketchbook half full with drawings of Arthur, several tiny origami birds, and multiple poker chips with ‘CASNO’ written on them.

There was no rhyme or reason to the piles Arthur had made. The only thing he had wanted was to be surrounded by Eames’ presence again, even if the presence was only a few items that clearly hadn’t meant all that much to the Brit since they had been left behind when he had methodically cleared his belongings out of their apartment.

Arthur had come home from his last job to find his apartment practically bare, only the basics left. Even the sofa they’d bought together was gone. Arthur wasn’t sure if he was meant to be pissed off or impressed that Eames had so expertly wiped himself from Arthur’s life. In the end, he had settled on feeling devastated. There hadn’t been a note to go along with the empty apartment, just the crystal clear implication that Eames no longer wanted to be a part of their relationship.

A soft whimper filled the space around him and Arthur pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes, digging in until he saw spots. His hands came away wet which made him feel even more pathetic than sitting amongst Eames’ left behind belongings did. Somehow, just sitting surrounded by the junk was okay but crying over it all wasn’t.

It had been three months since Eames left. Twelve weeks of living alone. Eighty-four days of Arthur pulling out everything Eames had left behind.

“Pathetic,” Arthur muttered and pushed himself off the ground. He’d had more than enough time to wallow. He had to get out and work again, had to leave his apartment and see people that had started to think he was dead. Part of him wanted to let them all continue believing that but his accounts were starting to get a bit on the sad side. He could only live for so long without getting some sort of income. At least that was what he’d told himself when he replied to Ariadne’s email offering him a job.

The fact that he had to leave town for six months may have also played into his decision. Arthur figured if he had some distance from where they had lived together—and possibly time to think of selling the apartment—things would be much clearer when he returned. It really was a pipedream but he had to try, had to do something that wasn’t just sitting in his apartment destroying his well-crafted reputation.

Arthur gathered up all of Eames’ things, putting them back into the box they’d come from. He shoved it to the back of his closet and started pulling out suits he hadn’t worn in months, determined to pack in record time. He’d already left it too late. His flight was at 0600 the next morning and he hadn’t sorted anything out, had just sat around, wallowing in how much he missed his stupid ex.

—

In the end, Arthur spent three months on the job trying to convince the team they didn’t need a forger. He desperately tried to explain that he could manage the mark on his own, that there wasn’t any reason to add someone else to the team.

Ariadne had still rung Eames.

—

That first week with Eames on the team, Arthur worked from his hotel room. It was cowardly, Arthur was willing to acknowledge that, but he didn’t care and had taken to ignoring his phone whenever Ariadne rang him—which was frequently. He sent emails. He updated everyone on the team—except for Eames.

Arthur was doing his damnedest to avoid Eames. Which was why it shouldn’t have been that surprising when he opened his hotel door to find Eames on the other side.

“Fuck off,” Arthur growled and slammed the door.

He hadn’t seen Eames in the flesh for months but it hadn’t been long enough for Arthur to forget every detail. The Brit looked so similar to what Arthur remembered. He’d grown out his beard and his lovely lips were hidden now, but Arthur still knew what lay beneath, still remembered how they felt pressed to every inch of his body.

There was another knock on the door and Arthur yanked it open. “What do you want?” He wanted to scream, to yell, to punch Eames in his stupidly beautiful face but Arthur refrained. He’d put his best suit on that morning and was feeling as well-armoured as he could be in the face of the love of his life.

“Hello, Arthur,” Eames replied jovially.

Arthur’s fingers twitched, desperately wanting to curl into a fist so he could wipe that adorable smirk off Eames’ face.

“What do you want?” he asked again, raising a brow in a way he knew used to make Eames spill the beans.

“Ariadne wanted these run over to you. Thought I’d do the honours,” Eames said, his tone annoyingly even and unaffected by Arthur’s raised brow.

That was an annoying development but Arthur figured things were bound to be different. He had to remind himself that he didn’t mind. Eames had left him. Arthur didn’t care how Eames had changed.

“Thanks,” Arthur said, holding out a hand for the files Eames was clutching to his chest.

“Arthur,” Eames said, his eyes softening a little.

Arthur looked away, staring at a small tear in the wallpaper over Eames’ right shoulder. “The files,” Arthur said, still holding his hand out. He couldn’t stand whatever was happening, couldn’t stand the pity he knew Eames was offering him. Sure, Arthur had spent over half a year pining after Eames, it didn’t mean that he had to make a song and dance out of it. Eames had no claim over anything to do with Arthur anymore, even if Arthur wanted him to.

“Arthur,” Eames pleaded. “Can we talk?”

Arthur scoffed and looked at Eames, really looked. If Arthur hadn’t spent three years of his life in a relationship with Eames, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the tells that something was wrong. Eames seemed tired, visibly so, and Eames was always put together. Even if Eames’ clothes never matched, he always tried to make himself look presentable—Arthur knew that—but Eames’ shirt was untucked on one side, the collar of his jacket half up, the hem of one trouser leg tucked under the tongue of his shoe.

These were all signs that something was wrong.

“Are you being followed?” Arthur said, trying to scope out the hallway without being obvious just in case Eames had picked up a tail.

“No,” Eames huffed. “Arthur, please just let me in.”

“Why?” Arthur frowned. If Eames didn’t have a tail, what the hell could he want to do inside of Arthur’s hotel room? He could barely remember the last time they'd been in the same room.

“I want to talk.”

“What could we possibly have to say to one another?” Arthur said, trying hard to remain calm. If Eames kept pushing, Arthur wasn’t sure what was going to happen. He was already desperately holding himself together, the file crumpling slightly in his hand.

“Arthur, please,” Eames pleaded.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he really considering it? Was he really going to let Eames back in? He shook his head. “Please go away,” he whispered, voice breaking just a little on the last word.

Eames sucked in his lips and nodded once before walking away.

Arthur didn’t watch his retreat, didn’t give himself the moment of weakness. Instead, he closed the door, pressing his forehead against the cheap, cool wood.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, banging his head against the door as he tugged on the chain around his neck, pulling out Eames’ cross. It had been one of the things Eames had left behind and Arthur hadn’t been able to part with it for the job. Now he was just a pathetic lovesick fool that couldn’t even be in the same room as his ex.

Arthur pushed off the door, letting the cross bounce against his chest as he walked to the bed. It was only three in the afternoon but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Seeing Eames had sapped all of his motivation and Arthur threw the file onto the bed before he collapsed face first onto it.

The comforter muffled his sobs and when it got too wet from tears, Arthur rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

He wanted to go to the minibar and drown his sorrows in a bottle of vodka but he refrained, telling himself he was allowed one night to wallow—soberly—in his misery. Tomorrow, he was going to go to the warehouse and face Eames like an adult.

Tomorrow, Arthur was going to do his job.


	3. Chapter 3

“So you aren’t dying then,” Ariadne snarked as soon as Arthur was through the main door of the warehouse.

He shot her a look, one that dared her to continue that line of thought. She was the reason for his current misery. She was the reason his professionalism was slipping in the face of Eames.

They managed to work in silence for an hour. It was peaceful and Arthur was starting to feel somewhat like himself again. But that was all destroyed when Eames walked through the warehouse door, whistling, and holding a tray of takeaway coffee cups.

Arthur’s chest ached, his stomach clenching violently at the sight of Eames looking so cheery. Exit strategies flew through his head, mapping out the fastest escape routes.

“A caramel latte with a double shot of coffee for you,” Eames called, pulling one of the cups free and setting it in Ariadne’s eagerly waiting hands.

“Oh, yes. You are a God among men,” she sighed, cradling the cup tenderly. “I knew I brought you in for a reason.”

“Here I was thinking it was for my dashing good looks,” Eames chuckled, setting a cup on Thomas’ desk, even though the chemist wasn’t there.

Arthur tipped his head down, scribbling notes to himself when he saw Eames zeroing in on him. His heart pounded faster and a wave of nausea washed over him.

“Triple espresso, one sugar,” Eames said softly, placing a cup next to Arthur’s notebook.

“I don’t drink coffee anymore,” Arthur lied. He wasn’t ready to accept that Eames still knew his order. It wasn’t complicated—dark and strong with just a hint of sugar—but the idea that Eames hadn’t forgotten threatened to break him and Arthur was determined to make it through the whole day without crying.

“Oh,” Eames breathed, hand reaching out to take the coffee back.

“Leave it,” Arthur clipped, eyes glued to his notebook. He knew that tone, knew he had somehow hurt Eames and that pissed Arthur off. Eames had no right being hurt after what he had done to Arthur but Arthur had to admit that it pleased him a little. He liked that he was still able to get under Eames’ skin. Arthur wondered how far he would have to push before Eames was really hurting.

“Arthur—”

“No.”

“Please.”

Arthur gripped his pen tighter, Eames’ sad tone destroying him with each word. Escape routes flashed through his head again, each one more ridiculous than the last. Though, Arthur did know he could fit through the bathroom window. That idea lingered longer than the others, long enough for Eames to shuffle off to his own desk.

“One more week,” Arthur muttered to himself. As long as everything went according to his plan, he would only have to suffer for another week. Then Arthur planned to get absolutely shit-faced so he could forget the whole job.

—

Nothing went according to plan.

The mark had an emergency surgery, moving the whole job up by three days. Ariadne’s levels were still shaky. Thomas’ mix wasn’t finalised. Eames hadn’t had enough time to learn his forge. Arthur missed another militarised mind.

The only thing that went right was that they managed to extract the information.

Arthur got taken down by the mark’s projections which left Eames to pull through for him. While Arthur used to trust Eames implicitly, he couldn’t say for certain the forger was going to finish the job off and it made Arthur antsy.

He packed everything away, his movements jerky as he kept an eye on the three still sleeping. Arthur had sent Thomas off as soon as Arthur woke up. They needed to get moving with their exit strategy and one less person potentially being caught was one less thing for Arthur to worry about. Thomas hadn’t put up a fight, eagerly running out of the warehouse after Arthur had promised it wouldn’t make any difference to Thomas’ pay.

After that conversation, Arthur mentally scratched Thomas off his list of people he was willing to work with. The list was beginning to get alarmingly short. Clearly it was a sign that Arthur needed to start looking at other forms of employment.

“That went tits up rather quickly,” Eames said, his voice catching Arthur off guard.

He hadn’t expected Eames out of the dream so soon. There was still another five minutes on the clock and now it meant that Arthur was alone with him. Not something he wanted.

Arthur moved faster, more efficiently. He had to wait for Ariadne to wake up, but Arthur could at least be ready to run the moment her eyes fluttered open. Apparently Eames didn’t pick up on Arthur’s desperation, though, that or he didn’t care.

“Now, darling.” Arthur winced at the endearment, reminding himself that it was just something Eames did. “Are you okay?”

Arthur shook his head which Eames took as a sign to step closer and place a hand on his shoulder.

The whole world seemed to narrow down to that touch. Memories flooded his mind, reminding Arthur of all the other times Eames had touched him that way. It was so familiar. He leaned into the touch, aware that Eames was probably noticing the way Arthur had turned ever so slightly towards him.

“It’s not your fault—”

Eames’ voice snapped Arthur from his stupor and he stepped out of Eames’ reach.

“Of course it isn’t,” Arthur snapped, looking away when he saw the pained expression on Eames’ face. It twisted something inside him and he wanted to reach out and comfort Eames, but he wasn’t allowed to do that. “Money will be in your account in five days.”

“Arthur…”

The silence between them stretched, filling the air with something palpable. Arthur was sure if he tried, he could reach out and touch the tension and wondered just how crazy he would look if he actually did.

Arthur looked up, eyes locking with Eames’. There were so many unspoken words between them, so many mistakes that needed to be rectified. Arthur couldn’t imagine breaking that silence. He knew that whatever came out of his mouth was going to be an accusation, a cutting remark just to hurt Eames and something about the way Eames was looking at him stopped the words before they could slip out.

“Darling,” Eames said softly, closing the gap Arthur had put between them.

The space between them was charged, filling Arthur with excess energy. His body remembered Eames and was more than willing to answer whatever was calling to him.

It would be so easy to reach out and twist his fingers into Eames’ shirt and drag him closer. It would be so easy to forget about the last nine months without Eames. Arthur could see it all in his head and his fingers twitched, getting ready to react before his sensibilities caught up.

“Shit,” Ariadne said, her voice loud in the heavy silence.

Arthur stepped away from Eames, ignoring the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“Thomas is gone already. We need to move,” Arthur and started pulling the cannula free from the mark’s arm. His hands shook a little, just enough for a trickle of blood to follow the needle.

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm himself after the moment he had just had with Eames. Despite it happening, Arthur couldn’t believe that he had allowed it. He was so weak. When he got home, Arthur was going to throw away everything Eames had left behind. It was time to let it go, let _Eames_ go.

“Right. Usual procedure? Contact you in a week?” Ariadne asked, stunningly composed.

“Uh,” Arthur hedged, firmly keeping his eyes off Eames. “No need for anyone to get in touch. I trust you.”

Normally would make sure he kept tabs on each team member for at least a week just to make sure no one was made or that they had suddenly become a liability. But Arthur didn’t want Eames using it as a reason to contact him.

“I thought you said—”

“Ariadne,” Arthur cut in, silently pleading. “Not this time.”

“Oh…” Her eyes darted from Eames to Arthur and he wondered if it was possible for someone to make something so small seem as though it had a life of its own. “Right. I’ll go then, shall I?”

Arthur nodded. He was going to rip into Ariadne as soon as he was alone and she knew it.

Once she was gone, though, Arthur realised he should have made her stay until Eames was gone. Now he had made the mistake of letting himself be alone with Eames again. He was subconsciously trying to destroy himself.

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” Eames asked once Ariadne was gone.

“No.”

“Please.”

Arthur shot Eames a look, hoping it conveyed every ounce of his intimidating nature. Grown men had cowered under it before but Eames had always seemed to be immune.

“Arthur,” Eames sighed. “One little conversation isn’t going to hurt you.”

Arthur snorted, actually snorted, and took satisfaction in the way Eames’ face shut down. “How would you know?” Arthur turned on his heel, gripping the PASIV handle tighter and walked away. He kept his steps measured so it wouldn’t look as though he was running away even though he really was. Arthur needed to put as much space between him and Eames as was physically possible so he could start to forget.

Going home to Paris to empty the apartment out was the first thing he needed to do to move on.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur fucking loved the apartment in Paris. It had been the best thing he had ever purchased and now he had to get rid of it.

Every corner of the apartment made him think of Eames. Every corner had memories that turned bittersweet after Eames left. Arthur could remember the exact look on Eames’ face the day he’d tried to convince him to eat marmite. He remembered the first shower they had shared together before remodelling the bathroom specifically so the shower was large enough for the both of them. He remembered when Eames had spilled a bucket of paint in the corner of the living room, the stain still sat there untouched.

Each and every memory was like a knife to the heart and Arthur couldn’t stand it. He had to get Eames out of his system.

Arthur methodically cleaned out the apartment, putting all the furniture into storage. He figured he would spend the next few months somewhere else, trying desperately to get Paris out of his system. He planned to try every trick in the book to forget Eames, even if it meant sleeping with a slew of people. Arthur was desperate.

Eventually there was nothing left bar a metal trash can and the box of Eames’ things. It seemed fitting, really, that Eames would be the last memory in the apartment. It seemed _right_.

He sat on the floor and upended the box. The move reminded him of before he’d taken the job Eames showed up on and his heart ached. So many months had passed and the wound still felt as fresh as it had then.

Arthur picked up the t-shirt and lifted it to his face, sighing softly at the faint scent that still lingered. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers, a calming action that was meant to stop his eyes stinging but didn’t help in the slightest.

“Are you at least going to leave the flat before you burn it down?”

Arthur froze, the t-shirt still at his face. Of all the times Eames could have chosen to go back to their apartment, he had to do it when Arthur was being pathetic.

“Get out.”

“No.”

Arthur dropped the t-shirt and pushed himself off the floor. He knew he looked like a mess. He’d worn his oldest pair of jeans that were ripped at the knees, a threadbare t-shirt, and he was barefoot. His hair was a mess in that way that made him look like an errant teenager. He knew because he hadn’t bothered with his appearance that morning and because of the way Eames’ eyes lingered on him as though Arthur was something precious to look at. It was the way Eames used to look at him when they were happily together.

“Get. Out,” he repeated, unhappy that Eames had shoved himself where he wasn’t wanted.

“Arthur, we need to talk.”

“And you thought breaking into my apartment was the way to go about that?” Eames winced and Arthur revelled in it. “There is literally nothing I want to say to you. You made it perfectly clear—”

“If you have nothing to say, why are you still talking?” Eames countered, raising a brow. His earlier weakness was gone and the fire that Arthur loved so much was rising again. “You are going to let me talk and you are going to listen. Then, once I’ve said everything I need to, then _we_ are going to talk.”

Arthur swallowed hard. It had been a long time since Eames had taken that tone with him and Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt. There were warring emotions swirling inside him: indignation that Eames thought he could still talk to Arthur that way and admiration that Eames was finally fighting back. It was a shame that it had all come too late.

“You couldn’t have left a chair or two to sit on?” Eames asked, eyeing the bare apartment.

“I would’ve have left the sofa but I haven’t had one in oh… about nine months.”

Eames winced and Arthur smirked, happy to be gaining some ground back.

“I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to say anything?”

“No. You told me I was going to listen. I didn’t agree to anything,” Arthur pointed out. Maybe he was a pathetic lovesick fool, but it didn’t mean he had to let Eames push him around. Arthur was one of the most feared people in dreamshare. There was a reason people knew not to cross him. Now Arthur just had to remind Eames of that. “If you have something to say, get it over with. I don’t have all day.”

Eames sighed, rubbing a hand over his head and making his hair stick up in every direction.

Arthur shouldn’t have found it as tempting as he did. Eames meant nothing to him, he reminded himself. Eames was just his ex that was being annoying and making it hard for Arthur to move on.

“I’m not sure where to start…”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Arthur groaned.

“Not like that. Trust me, Arthur. I didn’t come all this way without a plan of what I wanted to say to you.”

“Well, how about you start so I can get the fuck out of here?” He didn’t want to help Eames but he couldn’t help himself. There were questions burning in the back of his mind, things he desperately wanted to know the answers to. “Why not start with why you stopped returning my calls.”

“Have you ever heard of Charlie Skeet?”

The name was familiar but Arthur couldn’t figure out why. Obviously the guy had nothing to do with dreamshare, otherwise he would have been able to place him instantly.

“No? Not surprising, but that’s okay. He uh… is an acquaintance of mine from London. Not exactly the most pleasant person in the world, but he was the man you went to if you had a problem that needed solving. And by problem I mean—”

“Can you just get to the part where you tell me why the fuck you left?” Arthur sighed. He wasn’t a fan of long, drawn out bullshit and he had almost forgotten that Eames was the master of pointless rambling.

“Right, right,” Eames nodded. “I was in his peripheral for years and managed to stay on the edge of it until I needed some extra cash. Now this was before I fell into dreamshare, so I wasn’t nearly as flush back then and well, sometimes a helping hand was appreciated, right?” Eames spared a brief look at Arthur before continuing with his story. “So I went to Charlie, knowing he could help me out and well, long story short is that he paid off twenty-thousand pounds worth of debt for me.”

Arthur couldn’t stop they eyeroll and the audible groan. It was all a story he knew so well. Eames was notorious for his gambling debts and Arthur couldn’t fathom why this one was any different to all the others.

“Just hear me out,” Eames said in a rush before Arthur could tell him to stop. It was irritating that they had lived together for so long. Eames knew every single one of his tells. “Right, so I owed Charlie this money. But, being young, I thought I had plenty of time before he’d try to collect.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with anything,” Arthur cut in, his patience wearing thin.

“I’m getting there, Arthur. This is all necessary backstory.”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking life story. You wanted a chance to explain and now you’re waffling on about your gambling debts like I don’t already know about your problem.” It had been one of the first things Arthur uncovered about Eames—his inability to win a poker game—but Arthur had never thought it would be a problem for their work. As it turned out, it wasn’t dreamshare that the gambling had affected. “I’m not interested in history repeating, okay? So, how about you get out of _my_ apartment and we pretend that we’re both mature adults and just go our separate ways?”

“Oh for fucksake, Arthur,” Eames groaned, dragging a hand over his head again. “If there was a shorter way to say this, I would. But you need to know this for it all to make sense, okay?”

Arthur sighed and held his hands out, gesturing for Eames to continue.

“Thank you.” Eames took a deep breath as though he was bracing himself for something big. That didn’t bode well for Arthur. “Two years passed, I met Mal, I started making some money and a name for myself in dreamshare. Charlie heard about my newfound income and came to collect. When his goons showed up at my door, I bolted.”

Arthur snorted, folding his arms over his chest and turning away from Eames. At least he knew Eames’ penchant for running away when things got tough hadn’t started with him.

“I managed to stay under Charlie’s radar for years and… do you remember when we went to London for that job with Frank?”

Arthur nodded.

“And you remember me skipping out on the job?”

Arthur raised a brow and nodded again. As if he could forget being left an hour before the job was supposed to happen. It had taken a month and several hours of grovelling from Eames before Arthur had considered forgiving him.

“Good, good. Right, well… Charlie found me. Well… No, that’s not true. Petey found me and I knew it was only a matter of time before it was reported back to Charlie that I was in town again and I still owed the twenty-thousand quid which, at the time, I figured had garnered a rather pretty amount of interest.”

Arthur sighed heavily and shook his head. “This is a waste of time,” he muttered and turned away, walking out of the living room to what used to be his—and Eames’—bedroom. He couldn’t believe he had let Eames waste the last ten minutes of his life with whatever bullshit he was spouting. All Arthur had wanted to know was why Eames had left and what he’d gotten was an extraordinary tale.

“Arthur—”

“Don’t bother.”

“You have to let me finish,” Eames pleaded.

Arthur whirled around, finding Eames much closer than he had thought. “I don’t _have_ to let you do anything. This is _my_ house, in case you forgot. You _have_ to get the fuck out and leave me alone.” He clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms in an attempt to not lash out and punch Eames in his perfectly sculpted jaw.

“ _Our_ house, Arthur. We bought this place together,” Eames replied calmly.

“Our house? _Our_ house?” Arthur asked incredulously. He couldn’t stop the way his voice raised at the end. Anger was bubbling away under his skin, itching to be released and Arthur was one comment away from letting it all out. “This stopped being _our_ house the minute you stopped returning my calls. Do you have any idea how stupid I felt? Two months… I rang you every day for two months and I got nothing. I thought you were dead,” he spat, turning away from Eames so he couldn’t see the tears starting to form. Arthur wasn’t sure if they were because he remembered how much it had hurt to think that or because he was so angry.

“I didn’t think—”

“You never do and look where it got us.”

An ache settled in his chest, tightening as though someone had gripped his heart and was attempting to crush it. He almost wished someone would crush the stupid thing. His heart had only ever caused him trouble and the biggest disaster of his life was standing behind him. Arthur had to get out of the apartment, had to leave it all behind and sell the place as fast as he could. He wondered if Eames would want his money back.

“I listened to your messages,” Eames said quietly. “Every single day. I listened to all of them, every day that we were apart. I never stopped loving you, Arthur. No matter what you might think. You are the only good thing to have happened in my life and I get that I ruined it but you have to understand that I did it for you.”

“Don’t—”

“No, you don’t. I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen and when I’m done, then you can see if you still want to throw me out.”

Arthur felt when Eames stepped closer, could feel the familiar warmth wash over him and he fought the shiver that threatened to take over. He wanted to feel angry not relieved that Eames was finally there with him.

“Charlie put a price on my head. I only found out because an old acquaintance gave me a heads up. Apparently Charlie was sour that I had managed to skip out on him twice,” Eames sighed. “I managed to keep one step ahead of him for years but then you… then I fell in love and someone caught wind. They threatened your life, Arthur, and whatever you might think of me, your life is worth ten of mine. So I did the only thing I could think of…”

“You left so they’d leave me alone?” Arthur asked, his voice cracking just a little.

“Yes.”

“You are such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m not disputing that, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Arthur,” Eames said, his voice soft as fingers brushed against Arthur’s arm.

He jerked away from the touch. Eames hadn’t touched him in so long and it was a shock, a tingling sensation running straight through him. “I would have helped you.”

“I know and I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t put you in danger like that.”

Arthur snorted a strange strangled sort of noise. “I honestly cannot believe I ever thought you were smart. I would take a bullet for you, Eames. I would tear cities down for you, all you ever needed to do was ask.”

“Arthur—”

“No, it’s your turn to listen now.” Arthur turned to face Eames, ignoring the downturned expression that had taken over his face. If he let himself get distracted, he was never going to get the words out and he was drowning under the weight of all the things he wanted to say. “I would have helped you without a second thought. Fuck, I would have paid off your debt if that would’ve fixed everything but you never gave me a chance and I’m not sure if it hurts more that you thought I was too weak to help or that you never said anything.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Eames cut in. “Arthur, I promise it wasn’t like that.”

“Maybe not to you,” he said with a small shake of his head. “But to me… to me it feels like you didn’t trust me enough.”

“Oh, darling…”

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. His thoughts were an absolute mess. A part of him could see the Eames’ bizarre logic but another part of him—the smarter part—could see just how Eames had let him down. There was a war going on inside him and there wasn’t going to be a winner. Either way, Arthur seemed to come out on the bottom. “I need to think,” he finally said, voicing something just to fill the silence that had filled the space between them.

“Of course,” Eames answered, words clipped in the way that showed he was hurting.

Arthur tried to ignore the instinct to comfort Eames and walked past his ex, stopping at the bedroom door to turn back. “Did you at least pay off your debt?”

“Everything is sorted,” Eames said, turning to face Arthur, hope blooming on his face.

“Good,” he said with a single nod and turned, walking out of the apartment without a glance over his shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

_ “I’ll take it from the extra funds in my account that you sold the flat, then. Should I take that as a sign that you’ve made up your mind?” _

—

_ “I got an email from Ariadne today. I hope it’s alright that I asked her about you… I just wanted to know if you were alright since you never got back to me about the flat. It would be nice to hear something… anything… You’ve got my number when you’re ready.” _

—

_ “So this may not be the smartest move [hiccup] but… we know I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I’m somewhere in… [muffled yelling] … Apparently I’m in Dover. Who even knew I was back in the Motherland? Anyway, not what I was calling about. I saw this picture, you would have loved it, darling. All abstract, impressionistic stuff… It just made me think of you and well… [more muffled yelling]” _

—

_ “I thought I heard your voice today. Some rude American ordering a triple espresso in Nice but the tosser couldn’t pull off a suit as well as you. Got me thinking, though, about how much I miss your voice. And I really do. I even miss the way you used to yell at me about picking up my dirty pants. I’m sorry I ruined everything, Arthur.” _

—

_ “Alright, darling, now I know for certain I saw you today. You were wearing that gorgeous blue and white striped sweater I bought you for our first Christmas together. You looked marvellous and I wanted to go over but it looked like you were with someone and… If you’ve moved on to someone new, could you at least let me know? I just… I just want you to be happy, darling, and if that’s with someone else, I understand. But please… let me know?” _

—

_ “Ariadne said you aren’t dating anyone and that shouldn’t make me so happy, right? Because that means that you’re not happy. Have you thought about me? It’s been three months since Paris. Did you get a new number? Because that would be embarrassing… Surely you would have disconnected this number though, if you got a new one. Are you even listening to these messages?” _

—

_ “Okay… This will be my last message and then you never have to hear from me again. Yusuf said you’d bought a new place, didn’t mention where though. Anyway, that’s not important. I just wanted to apologise once more for everything that happened. I shouldn’t have done what I did and if I got the chance, I would make it up to you for the rest of my life. But I understand that that’s clearly not what you want. I just wanted you to know that... I love you, darling. Always will.” _

—

**_“Tahiti. Don’t let me down, Mr Eames.”_ **


	6. Epilogue

Eames fanned himself with his shirt. Walking out of the air-conditioned airport and into the oppressive heat was not something he had expected. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to Mombasa, but after being in the bitter winter of Prague, it was still a surprise.

His current outfit hadn’t prepared him for the heat either and despite wearing his loosest trousers, Eames was sweating within minutes of being outside.

As far as his plan went, Eames hadn’t actually considered anything further than just getting to the country. Arthur hadn’t left a trail, from what Eames could see, so it was going to be a matter of asking around if anyone had seen a dark-haired American. But Arthur’s French had always been impeccable, there was every chance he had slipped past without a trace.

Finding Arthur was potentially going to be the hardest thing he had done in months, and he had called Dom to try and get any news of Arthur.

Eames pulled out his phone, turning it on. He hadn’t even booked a room anywhere. The only thought he’d had when he got Arthur’s voicemail was that he had to move fast. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He’d made the mistake once and Eames learned from his mistakes, at least he _tried_ to.

Someone blared their car horn which made Eames jump and almost drop his phone. He was ready to yell at the tosser who thought it was a good idea to blast their horn in an obnoxious way but his eyes landed on Arthur.

At least Eames assumed it was Arthur.

He was in an aquamarine convertible with the top down, a white shirt with the top two buttons undone, a pair of dark sunglasses, and his hair was shorter than Eames had ever seen it before. The sides were trimmed neatly and the top was a touch longer. It wasn’t even slicked back. That was quite possibly the reason Eames had to do a double-take before recognising who was currently calling out his name.

“If you don’t get in now, I’ll leave you here,” Arthur called, tapping his hand against the door impatiently.

Eames grabbed his suitcase and practically bolted for the car, leaping over the side and into the passenger seat.

“Good choice, Mr Eames. Though I can’t say the same for that shirt.” Arthur glanced at him over the top of his sunglasses with a smirk and, despite bristling slightly at the jab, Eames loved that Arthur was teasing him again. He hadn’t realised just how much he had missed it.

“Would you rather I take it off?” he asked with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

“Save it for later,” Arthur chuckled and peeled out of the airport.

Eames reached out a hand, tentatively placing it on Arthur’s thigh. He wasn’t entirely sure where they stood with one another but he had to assume that since he was invited halfway across the world, Arthur was interested in reconciling.

Arthur looked over at him briefly, flashing a small smile as he rested his free hand on top of Eames’, linking their fingers together.

“Did you have anything in mind, darling?”

Arthur hummed, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove. “I hadn’t really thought further than inviting you here,” he said with a shrug.

“The famous Arthur, most organised man in the world, has absolutely nothing planned? The world must be ending,” Eames teased.

“You could always get back on the plane.”

Eames slipped his hand out of Arthur’s grasp and turned to face him, the seatbelt digging into his shoulder uncomfortably. “I am never leaving you again.”

Arthur frowned, shooting a quick glance at Eames.

“I swear on my mother’s grave, Arthur. I am not going anywhere.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Eames settling back into the seat when he realised Arthur wasn’t going to respond. Maybe it had been too early to much that sort of declaration. It wasn’t that much of a surprise that he’d gone and cocked things up again.

“What do you want to do?” Eames asked tentatively, risking a look at Arthur and finding him smiling like an idiot.

“Anything and everything.”


End file.
